


It's Really Good (To Hear Your Voice)

by Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)



Series: Want [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex competition, but with a tiny bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9836411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Madjesty/pseuds/Copper_Nails
Summary: The private comm link is a gift that Cassian doesn’t admit to giving.Tentative sequel to "Using You // Using Me"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title blatantly stolen from that Hinder song everyone sang along to in high school. Middle school? Whichever.
> 
> I've been thinking about the "Using You // Using Me" universe a lot, recently, and thought I might play around in it a little more. I hope you like this new installment! There may be more in the future. XOXO

The private comm link is a gift that he doesn’t admit to giving. Cassian slips it into one of Jyn’s boots in the middle of the night, shrugging his jacket back on after a notably less…intense rendezvous. Which is to say, Jyn is falling asleep on top of her regulation sheets after a long conversation about Cassian’s next mission as opposed to after –

Well.

Cassian swallows, brushes the hair out of his eyes, and slips her the comm. He straightens and tugs at the collar of his jacket, casting one last glance backwards towards Jyn’s dozing form.

“I’ll be back in two weeks,” he tells her (repetition, he’s found, is his best attempt to make things true. He’ll be back in two weeks; she’ll be here, waiting for him; nothing will have changed between them).

She murmurs something, sleep heavy and incoherent. Cassian bites down a smile and resists the urge to reach out and brush the hair away from her face.

The white light of the barracks burns his eyes as he steps over her threshold, but he doesn’t allow himself to wince.

He’s bound for Corulag on a recruiting mission that doesn’t need him, frankly, but Draven has been watching him with narrow eyes and a firm mouth for the past week, and it’s probably best for the lot of them (Cassian, the Council, the pulsing vein in Draven’s neck) if he goes without complaint.

When stepping into his own empty quarters threatens to bring him up short, Cassian grudgingly admits that his General may have made a good call.

(The corners of his mattress cover have been folded to regulation perfection, though it’s not like anyone checks them anymore. He wants to pick at them, a distraction as he packs himself a bag of necessities. He wants to tear the sheets off of the too-stiff regulation cot and see if they smell like _her_ ; seeing the bed empty feels wrong in a way Cassian doesn’t want to consider for more than a heartbeat, preferably less.)

He packs light. He packs quickly. His boots ring heavy against the floor of the barracks as he walks out, bag over his shoulder. He doesn’t walk past Jyn’s room as he makes his way towards the hangar, doesn’t let himself hover at the edge of her hall. Instead, he fixes his gaze forward and makes his way towards the transport Draven’s assigned him to – the one where K-2SO is waiting.

“There you are,” the droid barks, a datapad going lax in his hand. “We’re scheduled to depart in ten minutes, not taking into account any necessary last-minute meetings with the Council.”

“Don’t worry, Kay,” Cassian says, swinging his bag off of his shoulder. It lands with a thunk against the floor of the transport. “How far along is pre-flight maintenance?”

“Nearly finished.” He never programmed K-2SO to sound bitter, but somehow the droid has adapted. It’d be a fascinating development if it didn’t grate on Cassian’s nerves so. “No thanks to anyone else.”

Cassian doesn’t quite roll his eyes. His sigh, released long through his nose, remains affectionate. “You work too hard, my friend,” he says, fondness bleeding into his tone.

He doesn’t quite hear K-2SO’s response, though the garbled mess sounds vaguely like, “Damned right I do.” Cassian shakes his head and ducks inside the transport.

He’ll be alone on this mission save for K-2SO – not unfamiliar, but still odd in its silence. He putters around the cockpit, checking and double checking the transport’s coordinates. He disappears below deck, dithering his way through the rations and ensuring that there are enough for two weeks, then more on top of that.

By the time ten minutes have passed, the back of his brain is buzzing with anxiety and his hands are twitching.

His link to the two way comm is tied around his neck, the only personal item he has ever carried with him. He fingers it, settling back into the captain’s chair, as K-2SO climbs aboard the ship.

“We are ready for departure, Cassian,” the droid says, fixing his optical sensors on the captain. The lights go narrow for a second – another impossible task – and settle on the twiddling of Cassian’s fingers. “What’s that?”

“A comm,” Cassian says, forcing his hand away. The device bounces off of his chest as he lets it go, not quite stinging, but impacting, nonetheless.

“Perhaps my question was not specific enough.” Faceless or not, K-2SO has worked within the limits of his oral capacity to make himself _sound_ like a concerned parent, if not look like one. “ _Why_ do you have a comm link tied around your neck?”

Cassian has been interrogated with forces more intimidating than K-2SO (that is to say, forces he knew were trying to hurt him). He stills his face with a practiced ease and replies, “Why shouldn’t I have one?”

K-2SO hums. “Deliberately evasive. A sign of insecurity, which means that you believe I would not approve of your reasoning for having a personal comm.” The droid goes silent, though Cassian can hear the clicks and whirs of the gears inside his head. “There is an eighty six percent chance, then, that this comm device has something to do with Jyn Erso.”

It takes more effort than Cassian cares to admit to keep from rolling his eyes. He turns his back on the droid, focusing instead on the console in front of him. The door to the transport slams shut with a little more force than necessary; K-2SO, Cassian knows, has gotten better at non-verbally expressing his discontent.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” K-2SO asks, throwing his weight into the co-pilot’s chair. “You’d have informed me by now if my assessment was incorrect.”

“Or maybe I’m getting tired of every behavioral theory you propose relating to my supposed ‘relationship’ with Jyn Erso.” It comes out snappier than he means it to. Cassian grimaces, but he doesn’t apologize.

K-2SO, however, is not an easily offended droid. He shifts in his seat, glancing upward and flicking one of the many bright buttons higher up on the control console. His silence leaves Cassian nearly as prickly as his conversation, and the droid seems to know it.

He doesn’t speak until they’re taxi-ing on the Rebellion’s runway, waiting for the control towers to set them free. “My postulations are not meant to reflect a particular moral judgement,” he says, slowly enough that Cassian knows he’s choosing his words carefully. “But you are my friend, Cassian, and I have had ample time to observe your behavior. Since your first encounter with Jyn Erso, there have been notably changes in how you carry yourself and the decisions that you make, both as an individual and as an officer. Even were I not your friend, it would be something that I took into account."

Cassian closes his eyes and sighs. An alert comes in from the control tower – their transport has been cleared for takeoff. He guides the ship forward with practiced hands, pulling up the landing gear so it hovers in the air.

“I know, Kay,” he says. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t watch Base One grow smaller and smaller. “But this – this isn’t something I want to talk about yet.”

They’re not lovers, he and Jyn – not really, not conventionally, though he doubts Jyn would ever do anything that could be qualified as conventional. He’s adjusted to her strangeness, to her comings and goings. He’s accepted that their rendezvouses are meant for the dead of night, never to be talked about when the sun is up or a mission is on. They’re friends, even if oddly so, and he’s not about to risk that for clarity’s sake.

Something unpleasant stirs in his gut, but Cassian tucks it away.

“Well, fine,” K-2SO huffs, his voice returning to its original pomp. “But if this comm link negatively effects the outcome of this mission, recruiting or not, I suppose we’ll have to report it.”

Despite himself, Cassian barks out a laugh. “Sure, Kay,” he says as the transport breaks atmo. “But I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.”

K-2SO grumbles something again, bitter and binarical, but Cassian chooses to ignore him.

*

Night has fallen on Corulag by the time they pull into the public hangar. K-2SO, on edge and bitter, refuses to shut down until Cassian has secured himself in the hold with his blaster at his side. The droid positions himself in front of the transport’s door, then, and shuts down, an ominous guard that Cassian knows will make the local security regiments uneasy should they come knocking.

He doubts they will, but he’s long learned not to contest K-2SO’s paranoia. It stems from his own.

All the same, he finds himself impatient as he follows the bend of the transport’s hold with his eyes. His sleeping mat is thin beneath him, but Corulag’s humidity still leaves him feeling sticky. It doesn’t matter whether or not he rolls onto his stomach, his side; whether or not he keeps his knees propped upward. Cassian recognizes the signs of sleeplessness well enough that he should know better than to gripe with them.

Eventually, he forces himself upright. Back pressed against the side of the hangar, he fishes the comm link out from beneath his shirt and fiddles with it. His fingers brush over the button that will reach out to Jyn, but he never quite presses it.

If she’s found hers yet, she hasn’t called him on it. Then again, she may have thrown it down the nearest garbage shoot; if K-2SO’s paranoia is rabid, and his own is legendary, then hers transcends labels. Work with the Rebellion has not dulled her childhood sense of rabbit fear; it remains, pattering alongside her heart like it’s part of her DNA.

Cassian thinks on Galen Erso, dead at the hands of the people he wanted to help, and wonders if it is.

His finger catches on the call button, sticking for a second too long. Cassian swears and pulls away, then lets the device smack against his chest once more. He runs a hand through his hair and swears again, soft, in Festian, a satisfying roll of his tongue.

His comm beeps.

“Excuse me?”

Jyn’s voice lilts, confused and agitated, even through the static of the link. Cassian blinks. His hand migrates to his neck before he can stop himself, and the button of the comm is thrown once more.

“Jyn?” he rasps, voice a touch too soft. “Can you hear me?”

He moves his fingers away from the call button and listens, ears perked. The silence of the hold drags against his skin, an uncomfortable caress. He goes to close his eyes again, but the sound of his thundering pulse threatens to overwhelm him.

Then: “Cassian?”

He’s startled by the wave of relief that washes over him. “Yeah, it’s me,” he says, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck.

“You left a comm link in my shoe.” Not quite accusing – there’s too much amusement in her voice for that – but a sprig of guilt sprouts in his stomach, anyway.

“Did I?” Cassian readjusts his stance against the wall of the hold. “Huh. Don’t remember that.”

Jyn hits her response button in time for him to hear her scoff. “I nearly crushed it when I put on my boots this morning. You couldn’t have left it somewhere more convenient?”

“You still don’t know that I left it,” Cassian reminds her. “If it wasn’t me, how could I have had any say about where it was?”

He can imagine her rolling her eyes. It tightens something in his chest, inexplicably fond, that he doesn’t want to think too hard about.

“You’re in the middle of a mission,” she reminds him, the next time he hears her voice. “What are you doing on a comm line?”

“It’s not traceable,” he says, quick in his response. “I made sure of that. It’s – something for the two of us, I suppose.” He slips his finger off of the call button in the same moment he feels himself start to flush.

The silence that follows the not-declaration threatens to make his skin itch, but he holds, waiting, patient.

“I see,” Jyn says. A burst of static brushes the emotion from her voice, and the strangeness gripping Cassian’s chest grows all the tighter.

“Where are you?” he asks, shifting again.

“Your bunk.” Another declaration, unrepentant.

Cassian is quick to hit the call button so that she can catch his laughter. It’s a soft thing, barely audible, but he knows she enjoys hearing it – her face lights up, even though she does her best to tuck that brightness away.

“It’s cold without you here,” she whines, no doubt crossing her arms over her chest.

“Two weeks,” he reminds her, not without a burst of melancholy. “All the better reason to leave a comm link behind, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. Are you admitting to leaving it, now?”

“I may be.”

She scoffs at him. She’s at ease, or so it seems, looser than she is most of the time during the day. Cassian shifts and wonders at the implication of her easy laughter, of her good humor.

“Jyn.” Her name comes out too deep, but he doesn’t regret it. “What are you doing in my bed?”

The comm crackles in its silence.

“It’s night there, isn’t it?” he asks when she doesn’t reply. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Who’s to say I wasn’t?” she says. There’s more snap to her voice now, and that’s almost more reassuring than her laughter.

“Then I apologize for waking you up.” He’s careful to hold on to his amusement, even as he draws back. “Should I leave you to it?”

Jyn lets him hear her long hum. “No, I don’t think so,” she says.

His cock jumps at the playfulness in her voice. It’s not a tone that comes naturally to her – maybe she never means it – but it’s familiar. Cassian doesn’t want to believe in classical conditioning, but he’s growing hard, listening to her, wondering how it was that she managed to worm her way into his bed.

“What would you have me do, then?” he asks her.

He imagines her wetting her lips, pulling his sheets into her lap. The comm buzzes with the sound of fabric shuffling, with Jyn’s gentle noises as she readjusts in his bed.

“Talk to me, Cassian,” she says, almost an order. She lets him hear the smack of the waistband of her sleep pants, an offer if there ever was one. “Tell me what you’d do if you were here.”

“If I found you in my bed?” He knows exactly what he would do; he’s dreamt of it, gotten close to it every time she comes and finds him after a particularly long day.

“If I let you touch me.” It’s softer than he expected her to be, but it’s an offer, an olive branch from some hundred light years away. He swallows past a lump in his throat and shuffles against the wall.

“Touch you?”

“Yes, Cassian.” Her laughter is tempered with a thing like fear, a thing like nerves.

Cassian rushes to abate them. “Depends how you want me,” he tells her, voice dropping. “Where do you want me most, Jyn?”

Her name is a shiver that he hopes she can hear, hopes she misses for the static of the comm.

He hears her hum, imagines her hand disappearing below her waistband again. “I want your hands, Cassian,” she says, voice tilting a little dreamy. “I want you to touch me.”

“Then I’ll touch you,” Cassian decides, there and then. “I’d start with your thighs, Jyn; you have gorgeous thighs. I’d kiss you there; you’re so strong, I can’t even imagine how you’d feel.”

“Where next?” she breathes.

“Your hips,” Cassian says, a methodical man. “I’d kiss your hips and your stomach. I want to see if you’re warm there; you’re warm everywhere else.”

He thinks she laughs at that. “Then your stomach. Then the center of your chest,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. “I want to touch your breasts, Jyn. Am I allowed to do that?”

He knows he must sound desperate, so many light years away, but his cock is brushing against the fabric of his pants, dragging, and he can see her if he tries hard enough. She’s sat in front of him, her shirt abandoned on his floor, so many times before that he doesn’t even have to imagine her scars, the way she glows.

“Yes,” she tells him.

“Are you touching yourself?” he asks, ignoring the way his voice cracks.

“Yes,” she says again, a breathless thing. “But your hands would feel better.”

“I would make it feel better,” he promises, swears. “I’d be gentle at first, Jyn, I would, but I would give you what you wanted. Your nipples, _kriff,_ if I could touch them, I’d work them until you couldn’t feel anything else.”

“Would you use your mouth?” she asks, and he can imagine her, spread out in his bed, her own hands on her breasts, her lashes fluttering, her thighs squeezed together.

“Of course.” Taking a nipple in between his lips, suckling until she was squirming; he’d do it all to watch her eyes glaze over, to smell the wetness between her legs. He tells her as much and is rewarded with a low, wretched moan.

“I want you,” she tells him, her voice shaking. “I want you and I want your cock; I want to feel you, Cassian.”

He struggles with his pants for a long moment, breath gone too ragged for him to properly respond.

“I want you between my legs, Cassian,” Jyn tells him. “I want to ride you – your tongue, too, but your cock, and I want to feel it when you come.”

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve a woman like her. Cassian pulls his cock from his pants and strokes, harder than he means to, but once he’s started, he can’t bring himself to stop.

“I’d touch you,” he tells her, in between ragged breaths. “I’d stroke your clit while you rode me; I’d make it so good for you, Jyn.”

His name carries over the comm link, beautiful and broken. Cassian closes his eyes, presses his head back against the wall of the hold. “It’d be so good,” he tells her, barely coherent. “So good, Jyn, so good.”

It’s so easy to imagine her straddling his lap, to imagine the bliss he could bring her, the pleasure they could find together. He bucks into his hand, unable to stop, and hears her cry out over the line. It’s a slow thing, a build, the noises she makes.

Her climax comes before his does, as it always should. He measures it in decibels and imagines her head hitting his headboard as she comes to her own fingers, to the thought of his cock inside of her. It’s more than enough to have him spilling into his own hand, her name like a prayer on his lips.

The world goes white, like sunrise on Scarif. Then, he collapses.

He doesn’t know how long they sit in silence, after, his cock growing soft in his hand. His back is covered in sweat, and his wrist aches, but his brain buzzes with a content he doesn’t dare disturb.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for reality to settle in.

This is not, he realizes, one of their competitions (or then again, maybe it is). This is getting out of hand; this is exactly what he signed up for, leaving a comm in her boot.

He’s doing this to himself, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

“I think we can work with this,” Jyn says, when the silence has gone on for too long.

Cassian hums his agreement, makes sure she can hear, but doesn’t dare try to respond with words. When she stays silent, after, he tucks himself back into his pants. He’s pushing himself upright, preparing to head towards the ‘fresher, when her voice crackles over the line again.

“Stay safe, Cassian,” she says, firm: Jyn as she is in the daylight.

He reaches for the comm, presses the call to reply, but can’t find the words to answer. His finger slides off of the button without him making a sound.

Jyn doesn’t say anything after that, either.

Cassian makes his way into the ‘fresher and washes the stickiness off of his hands. By the time he emerges, a fresh canyon of guilt has opened up inside of his stomach next door to his cooling pleasure.

He falls asleep quickly (too quickly, for a guilty man), wondering when it’ll be that he hears her voice again.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
